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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608826">dear, whichever you are (i miss you, i need you, i love you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/groff/pseuds/groff'>groff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sex Education (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Drinking, I don't know what I'm doing with this fic yet but here ya go, I'm gonna add tags as I go, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Post-High School, punk!Adam, tattoo artist!Adam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:01:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/groff/pseuds/groff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Adam graduated high school, he escaped from under his dad's thumb to become a tattoo artist. He left a lot of things behind, but the past has always haunted him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eric Effiong/Adam Groff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dear, whichever you are (i miss you, i need you, i love you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AKA a punk/tattoo artist!Adam AU that I've been dying to write since S1. I envision Adam with doc martins, leather jacket, HELLA tattoos, and piercings. Please be kind because I word vomited this onto the page in about an hour, didn't edit, and then decided to post! yay me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Adam tugged at the sleeves of his leather jacket, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. He should have grabbed his gloves off of the counter that morning, but he’d forgotten. He was regretting it now, facing down the wind as it whipped through him. It was cold outside, dull and gray and threatening snow. His face was starting to go numb, and his ears ached. If the damn bus didn’t get here soon, he just might. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about lighting a cigarette, if only to feel the heat from the flame of his lighter on his fingers, but the old lady sitting bundled up on the bus stop bench was giving him dirty looks as it was. He didn’t figure smoking a cig this close to a public space would win him any favors with her. He tried to smile when he caught her staring again, but her glare just increased in intensity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He let out a puff of breath that was visible in the chilled air, and hunched his shoulders tighter against the wind. He wasn’t unused to getting dirty looks these days, especially from older people. He figured it had to do with the leather jacket, eyebrow and lip piercings, and visible ink curling up his neck. He’d had one crinkly old man tell him he looked like a thug, which Adam had found almost funny since that’s exactly what his dad had called him during his last visit home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bus rumbled up to the stop just when Adam was sure he would freeze to death. He scooped his messenger bag off the ground where he had set it and climbed on board, swiping his bus card as he did. The bus was standing room only, so he picked an empty spot and grabbed one of the handholds. Someday, he would be able to afford a car and wouldn’t have to ride this god damned bus anymore. For now, though, he had to get to his university classes and his job. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had shocked his dad when he’d announced at the end of eighth form that he planned on becoming a tattoo artist. His dad had been furious, spitting like a cat and ranting about how that was an </span>
  <em>
    <span>unacceptable career path</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His dad had insisted that they had come from a long line of men and women who were </span>
  <em>
    <span>intelligent </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>business minded</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which Adam thought was just a fancy way of saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His dad insisted that he wouldn’t pay for a single class at university, if that was Adam’s plan. Adam had told him to shove his money up his ass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he told his mum of his decision, she’d been visibly proud of him. He’d struggled for so long to find something that he was good at, that he enjoyed, and art had been a tentative outlet for him growing up. That art had been mostly vandalising school property and library books, but still. It was something that interested him, and he’d come to love learning about it during his first two years of classes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d worked odd jobs those first two years. He’d bagged groceries, been security for concerts, even bar tended for a short while, but now he had his almost dream job. He wasn’t a tattoo artist yet, but he was apprenticing with an incredible artist close to the school. He worked at the shop cleaning up, organizing the jewelry, and managing the shop's social media. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rode the bus for thirty minutes before he stepped off at his stop. He was opening the shop before his first class of the day, boring Art History. He dug his keys out of the side pocket of his bag, hefting the weight in his hands. When he’d first started working here, the owner, Leslie, always met him here to help him open. When she’d passed him his own key ring, entrusting him with the care of her shop completely, he’d grinned for days. He always remembered the disaster he’d made of his first job, accidentally leaving the door unlocked and getting the small convenience store in his hometown looted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He flipped through the keys to find the one that opened the front door. He had to press his toe into the bottom of the frame so it unlocked properly. Once he was inside, he closed the door behind him and locked it. Then he set about his normal routine. He wiped down counters and tidied the jewelry displays, making sure each ring and bauble was free of dust. He swept and mopped next, then went through each of the four artist’s private rooms to make sure their supplies were well stocked. When it came close to the time to open, Leslie herself appeared. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was a tall woman. Her skin was deep brown, offset by blue eyes. Her hair was always shaped into an immaculate afro. Today she wore cut off shorts, sneaker heels, and a gray and red crop top that ‘superior’ in capital letters. She grinned at him when she shut the door behind her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning,” she greeted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning,” he replied, gathering his things so he could head to class. “I haven't set up the till yet, but everything’s been cleaned and stocked. I’ve got the inventory order ready for review when I get back later.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She patted him on the shoulder as he headed out. “Good job, mate. See you after class!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled at her, then left. He could take the bus, but he hated the idea of paying the fee when the school campus was only a few blocks away. Leslie paid him decently, and he still occasionally bar tended at the club a few blocks from his apartment, but he still had to be careful with his money. One month his electricity bill had been higher than he’d planned for, and he’d had to walk to and from work every day. It had been hot out and his calves had looked amazing, but he didn’t want to risk it when the weather was this miserable out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he got to campus, there were people swarming the sidewalks as they headed to their next class. A few of them waved when he passed, people he had met during his time here. He waved back before instantly shoving his hands back in his pockets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Adam!” a girl shouted, trotting up to him as he entered the Art building. He couldn’t remember her name even though he recognized her. She had been in his art theory class last year. Her hair was bright red and frizzy, and freckles dotted her whole face. “Are you coming to the party tonight?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, but it’ll be going on really late!” she insisted. “It’s at the fraternity house on Clover street? Everyone in the arts department is going.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m usually at work until one or two.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her smile slipped. “Ah,” she said. “Too bad. Maybe next time?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Adam nodded before stepping past her to head to his class. He’d be late if he didn’t hurry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A party did sound fun, even though he wasn’t sure he’d much enjoy an ‘arts department’ party. He’d gone to one of those during his first year, though it had been a small one. He’d never left a party so quickly in his life. Maybe he could convince Leslie to let him off a bit early tonight so he could check it out. He was off tomorrow night, so if he texted the manager at the bar he could make up the mon-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His thought halted mid sentence as he caught a flash of bright color on someone’s jacket. He couldn’t see clearly through the crowd, but the fuschia, yellow, and blue combination was all too familiar. He walked closer, neck craning to see above the crowd. The boy wearing the jacket turned, grin on his face, and Adam’s heart sank. It wasn’t who he thought it was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A party would definitely be good for him, he decided. He could go and have a few shots, dance with a pretty girl or handsome boy, and try to dim the sudden longing that weighed him down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Leslie was happy to let him off work early. She always teased him for being too stiff for someone his age, ribbing him about his lack of social life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let yourself grow up too quickly, Adam,” she had told him a few weeks after he’d been hired. “You have to enjoy your youth while you have it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Adam didn’t really feel like he had much youth left in him, even though he was only twenty years old. He’d struggled for a long time after he moved away from his mum. He wanted to prove his dad wrong. He could be good at something, he could be worth something, but it was hard work being responsible with no one to help him. He often felt exhausted by the time he caught the late bus home from work, and the never ending piles of homework that filled his schedule left him with little time to actually let loose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped by a convenience store on the way to the party to pick up a bottle of vodka to contribute. It was cheap and probably tasted like paint thinner, but as long as the party hosts had some type of mixers he could make it bearable. When he arrived, the party was in full swing. He wandered through the crowd towards the kitchen, high fiving the people he knew. There were a lot of people he recognized from his classes, but also a lot of people he was sure he’d never seen before. It was definitely more of a real party than the one he’d been to his first year. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One of his closer acquaintances, a skinny lad named Lee who’d taunted and charmed his way past Adam’s defenses, immediately assigned him to be the unofficial bartender. Adam didn’t mind. He could drink and let people entertain him without having the muscle his way through the crowd trying to find something to do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He mixed drinks, pouring with a flourish. It wasn’t easy to make elaborate drinks out of the basics that were available, but he made it work. One of the boys who lived in the frat house made a run for something more than just coke and sprite, and returned with enough alcohol, soda, juice, and cocktail concentrate to stock a whole real bar. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Adam had a blast. People he knew from class came up to chat with him while he mixed their drinks. Some of the people he’d never seen before chatted, too. They all complimented him on his ability to make even shitty vodka taste amazing. Slowly, the people around him got drunker and drunker, the laughter got louder and louder, and the talking got more and more slurred. Lee cojolled him into taking a row of colorful shots with him, which put Adam on the exact right edge of tipsy and drunk. Smiling and laughing was easier for him in this fuzzy place. His hands were a bit clumsier, since he could no longer feel them, but no one seemed to mind when he splashed rum on the counter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was flirting with a beautiful boy from the science division when he heard an all too familiar laugh. His attention immediately turned, like a moth drawn to flame. He was in the kitchen, where he’d set up camp to mix drinks, and it was flooded with laughing drunk people. Bodies were everywhere, but Adam spotted him immediately. His smile was glowing in the low lighting, his eyes rimmed in bright green glitter. Adam would have been able to pick his laugh out of a crowd in a heartbeat, would have recognized his smile even in a crowd of millions, even after the past couple of years. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eric. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you stuck around through all of the errors I just KNOW are in this fic, thank you! I'm planning about five chapters for this fic, so please keep your eye out :') One Call and it's good in the dark (i can change) will update next week. </p>
<p>PS. In case you haven't noticed, all of my new fic titles are straight from Ezra Furman lyrics because I'm obsessed with his music.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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